She probably got there and didn't know what to do, and then she got a little stoned, and then she met a guy, they got together, they broke up, got back together, got married, got pregnant and had a baby, got pregnant and had a baby, got a house, got pregnant and had a baby, got him through medical school, grew apart, then got divorced and then she got angry because he got another woman, so she got into booze and got some valium, and then she had to get the kids ready for school and get them to the bus, then she had to get a job, and got invited to drinks at a bar with a work friend, who got Kathy a name tag and the whole damn thing just got repeated all over again.

3 comments:

But, aren't there other parts of the story... leaving the South Bay (North Torrance....well actually, Lawndale) for the 3/2 ranch house in Pacoima; the job at the Busch bottling plant while she put herself through the cosemtology program nights at Pierce Community College on the other end of the damn Valley. Having to nurse the Ford Pinto along for ten years (it was two years old when they got it and it never had air conditioning). Dreaming of better days to come and of moving to a nicer neighborhood like Canoga Park (now more fashionably called West Hills -- or some such nonsense -- it is still the damn valley) -- but alas, the dream never seemed to work out. After the divorce, the fling with the copier salesman (well, it lasted 12 years), and spending extraordinary sums on attorneys' fees in a vain attempt to keep two of the kids out of jail, Kathy has retired to a quiet and simple life in a retirement mobile home park in Oxnard. She screens her phone calls and only talks to her childrens' Probation Officer if there are plans for a family get together at the holidays.

If it were Trudy, she would have got there, picked up a name badge, met a slightly heavy guy that remindered her of her cousin Buford, and that would have got the conversation started and before long they would have ended up at at his place where they would have got into it in the bedroom, then she would have got a ring, then they would have gotten married and then she would have got to have the house in Glendale that she always wanted but he would have gotten a transfer to Raliegh, North Carolina because thats where IBM sent all of their junior programers and they would have got a townhouse, but Gary (his name) would have got an idea to put a magetic strip on the back of a credit card which would have got them transferred to the Silicon Valley where Gary would have made them MILLIONS of dollars and then she would have put together her idea of sending fresh fruit baskets by delivery to people, and she got an offer and sold that for millions and now she and Gary got a million dollar house, a love for each other that equals no other and their faces on People magazine as co authors of a book of sexual positions for people likemselves, 70 somethings who love to groove on each other. And guess what - Trudy still has that name badge because that is where it all started.

Once upon a time...

...there was a little boy who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but with strings attached, of course. And he lived in Shaker Heights.

Born on the cusp of Sagittarius and Scorpio, my birthday was hijacked by a national tragedy. My father is the son of a Jewish carpenter (seriously) and my mother the daughter of a Methodist hog farmer. Even my siblings are half brothers. My cousins are all older than I; their children all just that much younger - so we share no commonalities. I have no one else that remembers the things that I remember.

Neither fish nor fowl, I have spent a great deal of energy swimming against the currents and being picked over as a human. Life's chief lesson? Nothing in life is easy; even the easy stuff is hard fought over. But I am a survivor.

I have developed my own take on the world and these are my musings for me to get out and possibly for you to enjoy.